Chatterbox, 1906 Part 121

'Oh, thank you so much,' said Aunt Mollie, as the baker carefully drove his van past the little cart; but poor Mary only hung her head. She had been beaten by a little donkey!

'Perhaps he will follow if I give him a lead,' suggested the obliging young man; 'but if I were in your place, I would take him home by another road. Coop, coop, coop!' he called to the donkey, in a sing-song voice as he drove away, and Tim, who seemed to understand his language, galloped after the van as fast as he could put his four little feet to the ground.

There was a slight difference of opinion between Mary and Tim when the former, taking the baker's advice, turned down a narrow road to the right.

Tim wished to follow the van, and for a few anxious moments, Mary was afraid that he would be victorious.

'This is a very exciting drive,' said Harry in an awe-struck voice, as the donkey turned the corner so sharply that for an instant they all expected to find themselves lying in the ditch.

'Very!' answered his aunt.

She had her eyes on the donkey, and her hand on the door of the cart, which was open, and ready to be used as an 'emergency exit.'

'Oh!' she gasped nervously, as Tim showed a strong desire to climb the steep bank by the side of the road, 'I don't think I agree with you, Mary, that this donkey is a "perfect dear!"'

'He is a deceitful little brute,' said Mary angrily, 'and he will never be safe for the children.'

No sooner did Tim turn in at the Lodge gates than he became the same sweet, docile little creature that had trotted out, and as Mrs. Raeburn watched him come down the avenue she gave a sigh of relief.

'We were in luck to get such a treasure,' she thought, 'and I feel certain that no one could guess he had come straight from a greengrocer's cart; he looks such a little gentleman.'

(_Continued on page 398._)

[Ill.u.s.tration: "All went well at first."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'It's Captain Halliard!'"]

A MODERN WIZARD.

'Come along, Gussie, quick! Here! in by the garden-door.'

'Oh! what is it, Jack?'

'S--sh! Can't you make less noise? Just like a girl!'

Grumbling and muttering, he stole into the schoolroom--deserted now at three o'clock in the afternoon--followed on tip-toe by his younger sister, Augusta.

She eyed his movements eagerly, as he let down the Venetian shutters, drew together the heavy serge curtains, and poked up the sleepy fire till little tongues of red light darted mysteriously about the room.

Then he thrust his hand into his pocket, and drew out something!

Gussie retreated into a corner, and clasped her hands together.

'Not a mouse, Jack? Oh! I can't bear them--please, please----!'

'Are you nine, or are you _two_, Gussie?' asked Master Twelve-year-old.

He put a dirty, yellowish ma.s.s on the table. Gussie approached it anxiously. It might have been anything in that ghostly light--but, at least, it did not move.

'Wax!' announced Jack, triumphantly.

'Nasty, dirty stuff!' sniffed Gussie.

'Oh, very well! If you're going to talk like that, you can go away,'

said her brother, turning his back on her.

'No, no, Jack! I want to see what you are going to do with it. _Please_ let me stay!'

'Then lock the door, and don't make a row over it.'

The boy was bending over the fire, and moulding the messy lump between his fingers as he spoke.

'What is all that stuff for?' pleaded Gussie, anxiously.

'It isn't stuff, I tell you. It's wax. Can't you _see_ what I am doing?'

'It's so dark!' expostulated the child, peeping over his shoulder. Then she gave a cry of delight.

'Why, Jack you are making--I know!--a little man! It's just like the idol Uncle Joe brought Lilian from Burmah. _Is_ it an idol, really? I thought it was naughty to make idols.'

The boy held the little figure up, and surveyed it with pride.

'Of course it's a man! What should I want to make an idol for?'

'What do you want to make a man for?' wondered Gussie.

'Half a minute, and I will tell you. I must paint the thing now, and I can't see properly. Get a candle, and I will light up.'

He drew a small match-box from his pocket, and lit the candle with excited fingers.

'Blue trousers,' he murmured, dabbing on streaks of paint--'bother! a blue coat too. So dull! If only he was a soldier, now!'

'Oh, won't you tell me what it is for?' asked once more his sorely tried sister, her patience nearly at breaking point.

'You are such a ninny. You would go and tell.'

'No, I won't! I _promise_, Jack.'

'Lots of gold b.u.t.tons,' continued that exasperating boy, splodging them about in great abundance; 'and black eyebrows, and a red nose. Like a Pirate King, you know. Dare say he _is_ a pirate in disguise, if only one knew. It's Captain Halliard, Gussie!'

'Is he as ugly as that?' asked the little sister; 'he doesn't look so in his photograph.'

'You can't tell from photographs,' said Jack--adding, '_I_ expect he is a good deal uglier! He must be, or he wouldn't want to take Lilian away.'

'I thought he was going to marry her. I'm to be a bridesmaid, you know, and wear a white frock, with---- '